by Selena Kitt
But Liv continued to say she could always imagine him in a good Italian suit, running the family business, but Tilly definitely could never imagine such a thing. Well, the suit maybe, but not the business.
Tilly cocked her head at the desk, realizing there was no phone in the office. Well, that was strange.
And in the last drawer she tried in the desk, she found a studded leather dog collar. So. The dog connection again. Was the dog chain Beast bought at the hardware store for this collar? Where was the dog?
The mystery was too puzzling to solve, she decided. She didn’t have enough information. The room had revealed all its secrets—which turned out to be nothing terribly interesting, no secret passages or hidden treasures. The clues were boring, aside from the intriguing selection of posters on the walls. Were they her stepbrother’s?
Tilly noticed one she had overlooked before. It was Batgirl—Yvonne Craig? She thought. How did she know that? That show was way before her time—in her purple bat suit, tied up to a rocket.
Tilly was tired from last night’s interruption by Beast and his nightmares, so she stretched out on the sofa. It was certainly comfortable enough. She played games on her phone—Tetris until she got bored, then Plants vs. Zombies, which ate a ton of her battery life—until it died.
So much for the 911 option, but by then, Tilly’s eyes were heavy. It wasn’t late enough to go to bed, but she was tired anyway. Besides, unless she wanted to read receipt books, there really was nothing to do now but wait. And sleep.
And trust Beast to keep his word.
Chapter 3
“Open it.”
Tilly looked down at the box in her hands. It seemed alive. Humming. Like it was talking to her. Like it had its own heartbeat. Beast urged her again. “Open it.”
But she was afraid. What could be in there? She felt a sense of dread creeping through her, staring at the intricately carved wooden box with the strange latch. He’d handed it to her as he got off the plane. Her mother had been there, at first, but now she was gone. Now it was just the two of them, Tilly greeting him with pent-up breath, not knowing how he would be, what he would say to her, after such a long absence.
He had smiled, kind of shyly, an expression she rarely saw on the big man’s face. Then he’d handed her the box.
“What is it?” she asked him, but no. He shook his head. He wasn’t going to tell her. He wanted her to find out for herself.
Was something going to jump out at her? Like some creepy Jack-in-the-box?
“It’s not going to bite.” He chuckled, reaching out to brush a stray hair from her cheek. The touch of his rough, calloused fingers made her shiver.
Tilly closed her eyes and opened the box. She was too afraid to look at first, so she peeked. With one eye. But all the evils of the world didn’t spill out. Instead, inside on black velvet, was a collar. A little pink collar with a silver heart.
“Did you get me a puppy?” Tilly gasped, lifting the collar and looking at him with wide eyes.
“Look at the tag.”
She did, holding the engraved silver heart in trembling fingers.
It read simply: Tilly.
Puzzled, she looked at him, shaking her head. “What—?”
“Tilly.”
She moaned and kicked her legs at the interruption, rolling over on the couch, arm dangling toward the floor. She was dreaming—she knew, now, it was a dream—but she wanted to finish.
“Go ’way.”
But the light continued to spill into her room—and then she remembered, she wasn’t in her room. The inky dark enveloped her—there was no light overhead anymore, and she wondered, sleepily, if the bulb had burned out—and she saw the figure standing in the doorway, filling almost all the available space in the frame.
The recent dream-memory melded with her current experience and she felt a sudden, warm rush of feeling toward the man standing at the precipice of entry. She wanted to hold her arms out, call to him, welcome him home—but something held her back, even in her fuzzy half-dreamlike state of consciousness. Something in the way he held himself, tense, like he was ready for her to try to escape.
Was he keeping her here? Was he really kidnapping her? Had the dog collar in her dream—the one with her name on it—been a warning from her unconscious? She felt a sudden sense of urgency to run, as far and as fast as she possibly could, but her legs were numb—she must have slept in a way that cut off her circulation, she realized—and besides, he was blocking her only exit.
“Beast?” She struggled to sit as he took two steps into the room, moving toward the desk to turn on a pitiful 40-watt bulb. It didn’t cast much light, but it was enough to see by as he shut the door and locked it behind him.
She wondered if she was still dreaming for a moment as he stood there, looking at her as she sat up on the sofa. But no, this was real. She heard—not just heard, but actually felt, like the steady drumbeat of her own heart in her ears—music thumping through her body. It was coming from somewhere in the building. Somewhere below them? A heavy, constant bass.
“You left me.” She blinked up at him, eyes adjusting to the dim light. “I was scared.”
“I know.” He stood, just looking at her, big arms crossed over his broad chest.
The music trembled the floor her feet rested on, although she wasn’t entirely sure it was all coming through her. She thought, maybe, she was actually shivering. But she couldn’t quite tell. The music had been playing in her dream. It had been coming from the box, she remembered. Her dream was already fading though. Now her thoughts shifted to the way he had looked, the unmoving, muscular figure in the doorway silhouetted by the light in the hall. To the way he looked at her now, unblinking, as if considering something.
“The light must have burned out.” She squinted at the fixture on the ceiling. “What if I’d woken all alone in the dark, not knowing where I was?”
She knew how petulant and accusatory she sounded. Spoiled little sister. But the thought of waking up in the dark, terrified, actually made her feel a little panicked. Thank goodness she’d slept through it. Being in the pitch dark in the comfort and safety of her own room at home was one thing, but locked in the mysterious office of a strange looking warehouse was quite another.
“You look okay to me,” he observed.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded when her plea for sympathy elicited none.
No answer. Just that hulking, obdurate stance.
“I found out this place is called The Block,” she told him smugly, mimicking his position, arms crossed. “So? What’s all this about?”
“You’re a regular detective, aren’t you?” An almost-smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Been snooping, Nancy Drew?”
“I’m going to tell my mother, you know,” she snapped, hating that amused look in his eyes, like he was laughing at her. “About you taking me here.”
“We both know you won’t be telling Liv.”
That stopped Tilly cold. Damn him. She hadn’t been kidding when she said he knew her better than anyone. He could read her instantly. Even better than Frankie. He’d always been good at calling her bluff.
Beast moved to the desk, opening the top drawer, rummaging through. He glanced up at her for a moment, as if pondering something, making a decision. It drove Tilly nuts how in control he seemed to be, and she couldn’t make him answerable for anything. Story of her life.
“So,” she said, pouting. “I have to pee. Are you taking me home now? Is your little game done? Do you still have some kind of mysterious point to make?”
“Yes, no, and yes.” He closed the top desk drawer, hard, making her jump. “I’m going to take you home, and you are going to stay there, and never poke your nose into my business again. Save your cutie-pie routine for your boyfriend.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
He half-sat on the desk, folding his arms again, leveling her with a gaze that made her feel incredibly small. So she’d ac
ted like a child, hopping in his car, telling him to make her get out. And he’d treated her like one, carrying her up here and putting her into the world’s longest time-out. But she was over it. She didn’t want to play the role of his annoying little sister anymore, even if that was how he insisted on treating her.
“So now what?” she asked aloud, mostly to herself. Now what, indeed? How did she go from acting the petulant, spoiled brat sister to being...
His.
Fuck. No. She shook her head defiantly, gritting her teeth against the thought. No, that isn’t what she wanted. That was impossible. But, if he was going to be home, at least until her mother...
She swallowed that thought, too. It went down painfully.
The fact was, her stepbrother was home again. She was going to have to find some way to deal with him, to relate to him, that didn’t involve stomping, slamming and yelling.
“I’m going to make sure you learn your lesson.” Beast answered her question quietly, one she had almost forgotten she’d asked aloud. “I’m going to punish you.”
Tilly had been about to say something, propose some level-headed solution—like avoiding each other, perhaps—but his words froze her in place. Suddenly, she was afraid again.
“Punish me? You’ve gotta be kidding. For what?”
“For disobeying me.”
“Disobeying you?” Tilly snorted. But she felt a chill come over her. “Get real! You’re not my father.”
“That’s right,” he agreed amiably enough. “But the only father you ever knew is dead, isn’t he?”
She blinked at him in surprise. He never talked about his father. Not ever.
“And God only knows where your real father might be.” His words were harsh, hitting her like blows. She actually shrank back against the sofa, away from him. “So I guess it’s up to me.”
“You’ve got to be crazy. You—”
But Beast moved swiftly and sat down on the sofa, pulling Tilly over his lap.
She squealed and screamed, wondering if anyone on the other side of the locked door could hear her. But he ignored her histrionics. He just held her there, in his lap, his hands big as hams, keeping her from going anywhere. Finally, she stopped, breathing hard, cheek resting against the leather of the sofa. She couldn’t see much of him from this angle. Just a beefy figure out of the corner of her eye.
“Now,” he said softly. “You’re going to count as I spank you.”
“What?” she whispered, incredulous. He had to be joking. This couldn’t be happening. She tried twisting out of his grip once again, but as soon as she moved, he tightened his hold again.
“The sooner you give in, the sooner it will be over.”
So logical. He sounded so calm and rational. But everything in her balked at the idea and she began to thrash again, flopping around like a fish pulled up from deep water. Beast steadied her across his lap, not reprimanding her, just keeping her from escaping and slithering away.
“No!” she protested, howling—and he hadn’t even done anything yet! “Beast! There’s no fucking way! I’ll—I swear, I’ll—”
What? Tell my mother? It was just another little-sister threat. She had nothing. She was caught. He had her—hook, line and sinker.
Then, he smacked her, hard, through her yoga pants. They didn’t provide much protection and the sensation vibrated through her like she was a tuning fork, newly struck.
Tilly shrieked, more from surprise than from pain. But it did sting. In fact, it stung quite a lot.
“Owwwww!” Her nails dug into the sofa, looking for purchase, any way she might be able to escape. “Staaaahhhhp!”
“Tilly, count,” he ordered, his voice a growl.
“No! There’s no way I’m going to... ow!”
He smacked her again. This one was harder, on the other cheek. Now her whole bottom was singing.
“If you don’t count, you’re just going to have to start over again at one.” Such perfect reasoning. It made her want to scratch his eyes out. Her face burned with heat, humiliation. How dare he do this? How dare he? “Now—count.”
He spanked her—his palm was as big as one of her ass cheeks, it had to be, and the force he delivered the blow with was intense. It made her teeth rattle. Tilly whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain. It really did hurt, as ridiculous as that sounded.
She had been spanked three whole times in her life, as a small child, when her maternal grandfather caught her crossing the street to play on the neighbor’s trampoline, and she couldn’t remember it actually hurting.
She only remembered the humiliation of it. Her grandfather’s anger and, under that, his fear. He’d been afraid for her, afraid she would hurt herself, crossing the street and playing, unsupervised, and it had been that feeling Tilly had carried with her, far more than the sting of the spanking. She had felt like she’d let him down somehow, disappointed him.
This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you, he’d told her, and in a way, he was right. She carried the memory of her shame with her from the incident, that overwhelming feeling that she had failed him.
And still, she’d kept doing it, the siren call of a trampoline far outweighing the threat of being corporally punished. Even outweighing the knowledge that she was somehow hurting him.
Finally, her grandfather had just bought her a trampoline, solving the problem in another way, since spanking seemed to be no deterrent.
But this was different. Beast wasn’t angry—at least, he wasn’t acting that way. He sounded perfectly lucid. Even detached. He certainly wasn’t telling her it was going to hurt him more than it hurt her!
“Okay, we’ll start again at one.” He sighed, bringing his hand down once more, spanking her for the fourth time. “Count, Tilly.”
“Okay!” she relented, realizing this could go on for a long time, now wanting more than anything for it to be over. “Ow! One! One!”
“That’s better.” The amusement in his voice made her see red. Literally—it was like she was looking through a red haze and she closed her eyes, wincing in anticipation of the next blow. She imagined turning and pummeling him the moment he let her go. Clawing at his eyes. Biting into the hard, tight flesh stretched across the muscles of his bicep or forearm. Maybe if she took a nice chunk out of one of his inky tattoos... “Let’s see if you can do it again.”
“Beast, you let go of—ow! Two...”
“Good,” he praised her. That made her cheeks flush with heat. “Again...”
SMACK!
“Three!... Ouch!... Four!... Ooh!... Five!”
She was beginning to wonder what number she was counting up to! Tilly felt the harsh sting seeping through the thin material of her yoga pants. Her bladder was practically bursting. It ached, throbbing insistently with need. But she was not quite bereft of resistance. Not yet.
“Is that all you got, Connie?” she snarled. Tears burned her eyes and she tried to blink them back, not wanting him to see. “It doesn’t hurt that bad.”
“No?” His voice was smooth, buttery, and she bit her lip against the way his hand rested on her behind, just covering the sear, like he was trying to keep the heat in. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were asking for more.”
“I can take whatever you’ve got,” she snapped back, attempting to throw herself off his lap, but he stopped that by grabbing a handful of her ass flesh and pressing her hard against his long, powerful thighs.
“Well let’s see.”
To Tilly’s shock, Beast pulled down her pants. Her panties went with them. She gasped, squealing, all too aware he could see her, completely exposed to him. She snapped her legs closed, pushing against the sofa arm with her stocking feet, trying to rock herself off his lap, but he just hauled her back, easily situating her again over his thighs.
“Behave, Tilly, or we’re going to be here all night, seeing how high you can count.”
That stilled her but she couldn’t help crying out when his hand came do
wn again, this time on bare flesh. The sound reverberated through the room, like a gunshot, and she felt it thud through her with that kind of force.
“Fuck! Ye-ooww! Seven!” She squirmed, her bottom throbbing, pants and panties pulled down almost to her knees now, after their struggle.
“Seven?” He was grinning. She could hear the fucking grin in his voice. “Oh no. Can’t you count, sweetie? It’s six.”
